‘Careful,’ I tell him, ‘that is my father, you know.’
‘You want to tell him that?’ Dillon thinks. ‘He’s a fiesty old goat.’
Shaking his head slightly, Dillon leaps over to the side of the vehicle. He looks around and, apparently satisfied that the gas has cleared sufficiently, removes his mask. He leans over and grabs the front of Howard’s shirt, pulling him to his feet.
“Look, it’s not the traditional way to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage, I know ...” Dillon doesn’t get any further as Howard throws everything he’s got at him, launching them both ten yards back by kicking off from the truck, which spins to face in the other direction from the force. They land in a rolling heap, then both regain their feet and circle each other warily.
Howard looks at me, and I smile what I hope is a reassuring smile, though with my features twisted this way and wearing a gas mask, who can tell?
Howard looks back to Dillon, then to me again, then back to Dillon, who says, “So? How about it?” He extends his hand, and Howard shakes it awkwardly. I stifle a laugh and dodge another of Sam’s attacks. This is getting to be fun. I’m quicker than he is.
So. Now, we are three.
Falk has ripped the throat and heart out of the slayer who was weakened by the gas, and throws himself at the blond one, tackling him at the waist and rolling away with him. That leaves an opening for Dillon, who pounces on Alaric from the back. Alaric reaches behind him and throws Dillon over his head, but Dillon manoeuvres in mid-air and lands on his feet facing his foe.
“So, Ebner, you like ripping the heads off little girls, do you? Let’s see how you get on with someone your own size.”
I don’t have time to see Alaric’s reaction because I have to do a bit of swift manoeuvring myself to avoid having my jaw ripped off. I leap on top of a building, giving me a moment to breathe while Sam has to make the leap to the top of a truck and then to the roof.
Tilda shrieks as Nell launches her into a wall by the hair. They are having a real cat fight, and she is losing quite badly. Nell is finally getting a single-handed victory, and it’s about to be snatched from her, poor thing. As she moves in to finish off her prey, Howard lands in front of her and bars her path. As they begin circling each other, he too removes his mask.
“It doesn’t have to be this way, Nell. We don’t all have to die here.”
Good old Howard, he’s going to talk her into submission.
Things are going to plan. I’m dodging Sam’s blows, hoping he’ll tire before I do. That is until I step backwards to avoid a particularly vicious swipe, and fall through a hole in the roof, landing on my back. It knocks the wind out of me. Sam rips off his mask and leaps down from above me. I manage to get one knee up to my chest, but he just pushes down and grabs my throat.
“Hello, sweetheart,” he leers, leaning in, “we’ve come to rescue you from the nasty vampires.”
“Fankssss,” I reply through my mask, pulling his hand from my throat with both of mine and rolling my back slightly, managing to wedge my foot between us, “but I wasss doin jussst fine don my ownd.”
I roll forward and kick out, managing to throw his weight back into the wall. As he staggers in surprise, I leap for the roof.
He catches my foot and swings me round in the air, slamming me face-first into the floor. I groan and let out a sigh before pushing myself back up onto all fours and trying to stand.
“That’s not what I heard,” Sam says. He grabs me by the back of the neck and throws me through the wall.
I manage to get my hands up above my head so my forearms take most of the impact, but I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I can’t help thinking, briefly, it would be nice, for a change, not to be surrounded by people who want to kill me.
I also can’t help thinking I could do with a little help. Somehow it seems unfair that I get lumbered with Sam, the biggest, ugliest, and meanest of the bunch. Why couldn’t I have got Jax, or the Vinnie look-alike? I’m pretty sure I could have taken them.
A quick look around tells me not to expect much help any time soon. Howard is still trying to wear Nell down. Falk is caught in a death grip with the big blond, each of them trying to gouge the other’s throat out, and Faruk and Jax seem pretty evenly matched too, which can only mean Faruk isn’t taking this as seriously as he should be.
Quidel has fallen, and Tilda is dragging him off. I can only hope it’s so that she can work her magic on him, but that makes it five on five. As I drag myself to my feet and turn to face Sam again, he steps heavily through the hole I’ve just created in the wall. I can’t decide if that’s because he’s out of breath, or if he’s just savouring the moment.
We both pause to watch as Alaric and Dillon fly between us. I can’t tell who is throwing who.
“… tyrannical, self-important, bullying bastard genocidal maniac!” I just catch the tail end of a long string of unintelligible expletives from Dillon as he thrusts his arms out, breaking the embrace and they land; Dillon on the truck Howard launched off from earlier, and Alaric on a pile of rubble that used to be a wall.
“Trrrraitoooor!” It takes a second to register what Alaric is saying, and then another to wonder why he is calling Dillon a traitor. I look at Sam. My confusion is mirrored on his face.
I look back at Dillon, as he deflects the furious Alaric’s attack, with his long, straight black hair flowing in the wind, his straight Roman nose in profile, his dull gunmetal grey eyes alight with silver sparks, and his jaw grinding and popping in anger. Why would Alaric consider a half blood vampire, a rasa cur, a traitor? Why should his anger be so singularly directed at Dillon?
I turn to Faruk, who finally seems to be getting on with subduing Jax, and for the first time notice how straight and black his short hair is, and there it is again, that Roman nose, the eyes a lighter pewter, but with the same silver flecks reflected in the moonlight, and that same square jaw.
I remember Faruk’s words. “My older brother prefers to take a more active role. He quit The Coven two centuries ago,” and how he said his defences were a reaction to an overly inquisitive older brother.
Then there was the familiarity of Faruk’s laughter and the same hint of mischief in his eyes as Dillon’s, and the way they both winked at me.
They all have grey eyes, straight noses and square jaws: Quidel’s eyes are weathered slate with hints of a beige brown; Patrick’s the deepest anthracite; Dillon’s dull gunmetal and Faruk’s that light pewter, but all grey.
How stupid do I feel?
I Will Be With You
I AM SO STUNNED, I drop my guard. Sam is the first to recover from the shock, and if I thought he was pissed off before, now he’s berserk.
He tries to grab my throat and I don’t get far enough out of the way. His talons rip deep gouges in the side of my face and neck, cutting my mask free. I remember Alaric trying to rip my head off and freeze, afraid Sam might succeed where he failed. I remember the beating I took the last time I took Sam on. I can’t afford to let the fear get the better of me. If I can’t find a way to take Sam out this time, there will be no reprieve; no Doctor Chan waiting to patch me up.
The next swipe, which leaves trails of blood dripping from my forehead and into my right eye, stimulates me into action. I leap over Sam’s head, avoiding what would have been a devastating uppercut, and land on the truck. Sam turns and charges at it, his head down, roaring in rage.
Howard flies at him in a side-tackle, and I jump from the truck as the two of them crash into it, sending it spinning away. They roll on the floor, and Sam stands, his hand in a death grip around Howard’s throat. He throws him aside like a rag, and Howard lands, broken, on the pile of rubble. In his bloodlust, Sam has forgotten about me, and moves in on the easier target Howard presents.
All thoughts of needing help gone, I launch myself after him. As he raises his arm to deliver a blow, I swipe his legs from under him. His attention back on me, he twists as he regains his feet, only to fa
ll back with blood filling his mouth when I land a neat kick under his chin. It’s just a diversionary tactic to buy some time. Even in his rage he hasn’t lowered his defences enough to give me an opening.
Sam stands facing me, the slow trickle of tar oozing from the side of his mouth and dripping from his exposed fangs. He wipes his chin with the back of his hand, and spits a glob of black froth onto the ground. He runs his tongue over the tip of his fang and drops his head, looking at me through his eyebrows, his mouth open in a slack jawed grin.
“I’ve been looking forward to this.”
He sets off in a lumbering run, coming at me again. I am in real trouble. I know I need to move, but it’s happening again. I can see the images of my death in his eyes, and the strength saps from my bones. My legs refuse to move out of the way of the oncoming juggernaut. My arm, raised to deflect the attack, is sliced to the bone. I barely recognise the sound that issues from my constricted throat as a scream as I fall back onto the rubble, curling into a ball and covering my head.
Sam is hammering home blow after shattering blow. I am bleeding freely from multiple wounds.
I’m cornered. No matter what I do, I just can’t get away from Sam. I think I’m in for it this time. I remember the feeling of falling into unconsciousness the last time I faced Sam and lost. I’m so badly battered, I feel it again, creeping to the edges of my mind. My body isn’t responding to my wishes. I can do nothing to dodge his vicious blows. I think I’m going to die. Sam boots me in the stomach and I fall onto my back, gasping. My eyes fill with blood and the darkness encroaches in my mind as he reaches down to grab me by the neck.
As my mind slips into blackness, though, what greets me this time is not oblivion, but a pair of familiar green eyes, framed in olive skin with a silky bloom, although her hair is shot through with grey. I hear her words, “Eu va fi cu tine,” in my head: “I will be with you.”
As the vision becomes clearer I see two more green-eyed women standing behind Libby, their hands resting on her shoulders; the nuns who aided her escape.
‘Stand up, child,’ Libby commands, and without quite knowing how, my feet are beneath me.
‘Move,’ she urges, and the strength to dodge Sam’s next blow returns.
Move by move, command by command, Libby’s will moves my body, keeping me alive. Her energy, and that of the Maici flows through me. My body moves to her bidding, as if I were a puppet.
Their magic frees me to concentrate on Sam’s mind. I see the thick black fog, and imagine it dissipating. There’s no change to the dull, hate-filled expression on his face, but inside his mind, the blackness turns to dark grey. Soon, the fog is lifting. Sam is no longer consumed by it. His mind is clearing; he is becoming aware of his actions.
A look of confusion flickers across his face and that saves me, as I dig deep and get a blow in. Something has shifted. I sense Libby’s exhaustion and her departure from my mind, but Sam is sluggish now. He is tiring. I have my opening, and I am not going to waste it.
I wipe the blood from my eyes, and ignore the throbbing pain. The cuts are already healing. I dig my talons up into Sam’s mouth, through the flesh under his chin. Spinning us both around, I see the hole in the wall he threw me through, and charge, pushing him up against what is left of the wall. He’s trying to get my hand out of his mouth, but I push my other arm into his throat and yank my hand forward.
His eyes go wide, and I hear a sickening, ripping, squelching sound as his jaw and tongue come off in my hand. I stand back as he collapses to the floor, flicking my hand and retracting my talons to dislodge the lump of flesh.
I’m bent over with my hands on my knees, breathing heavily when Falk walks over to him and casually bends down. Putting one foot on his chest, he grabs what’s left of Sam’s head and yanks it off cleanly, with the spine dangling like a tail.
I gag and turn away, swallowing the bitter bile, and taking in the situation.
FALK HAS DISPOSED of the blond slayer, and is running his hands through his dishevelled hair. Faruk has subdued Jax enough for him to cease fighting, and has him face-down on the ground. He is kneeling on him, holding Jax’s arms behind his back. Howard has recovered somewhat, and is sitting beside Tilda, his arms around her shoulders. She’s still bent over Quidel, her hands on his face and her forehead to his. Nell is sitting beside Howard, cradling her knees to her chest and rocking back and forth. Her eyes are wide and frantic. Whatever Howard said to her, it must have worked, because she is making no attempt to fight or flee.
Dillon and Alaric are both fatigued, panting and circling each other with heavy feet. Falk moves towards them, creeping up on Dillon from behind. None of us are wearing masks any more.
“No!” Faruk jumps after him, grabbing him by the arms and holding him back. Before he has chance to fight free, I run to them and we each hold an arm. Falk needs little encouragement to leave the two remaining combatants to settle their own differences.
“What’s wrong? Feeling a little tired?” I ask Faruk.
He shrugs. “You seemed to be doing Okay.”
Jax, sensing his opportunity to escape, starts to get to his feet, but Howard has his foot on his neck before he gets anywhere.
Nell saunters over, and sits on his back, patting his ribs. “Leave it, Jax.”
Jax, his face pressed into the ground glares up at Howard. “Another time, vampire.”
Dillon has Alaric on his knees, standing on his claves with one foot, and pinning Alaric’s arm behind him with his knee. His other arm is extended behind him, trapped in the crook of Dillon’s elbow. Dillon bends his arm behind Alaric’s head, forcing the German’s neck forward and gripping his shoulder, forcing it down. His other arm reaches over Alaric’s head, gripping under the jaw, ready to pull up.
“No!” Falk’s voice is commanding, and Dillon hesitates.
“You,” he growls over his shoulder at Falk, “are not Elizondo.”
“Brother, no.” Faruk whispers
“And you are not my elder,” Dillon prepares to make the final effort.
“But I am both,” Quidel’s voice is weak, but does not waver. He’s still on the ground, but sitting up now.
Tilda is slumped beside him. I hope she has not given too much in her struggle to revive him.
“And this is not our way,” Quidel gets to his feet with an effort.
Dillon wavers, but does not release Alaric.
Falk shrugs his shoulders pointedly and both Faruk and I release him. I take a few steps forwards and put my hand on Dillon’s shoulder.
“Dillon, stop,” I whisper, not wanting to see any further bloodshed.
I’m not sure even I can stop him, but after a few seconds he leans in to Alaric’s ear.
“You … owe … her … your … life.” He says before he releases Alaric and pushes him to the ground.
Retreat
A SECOND FLARE BREAKS the tension of the moment, signalling the final phase of the vampires’ plan: retreat.
Tilda wraps Quidel’s arm around her shoulder and grabs him by the waist, supporting him as she sets off behind the gym to the second entrance to the sanctuary. Howard follows her, guiding a dazed and docile Nell. Falk and Faruk manhandle a less compliant Jax, while Alaric and Dillon follow side-by-side.
The Calugari, sensing their victory, tumble down into the courtyard, and begin the process of ensuring none of the fallen will rise again.
I watch the backs of the others disappear into the mountain, then set off at a run for the lab. Jaegar is dragging the unconscious form of his youngest brother into the building. As I approach, he snarls at me, ready to defend him to the death. I stop running and hold my hands up, placating him, before grabbing the younger brother’s legs. Together we carry the body into the shadows.
Jaegar places his brother on the ground, and I prepare to take his weight between us, but the older brother makes as if to go back out into the courtyard. I place my hand on his chest, pushing him back firmly.
“My b
rother ...”
“I know,” I tell him, my voice a hoarse whisper. “We have to get out of here, though.”
My point is brought home by the thick plume of acrid smoke that drifts into the building behind us. The Calugari are wasting no time.
The electrics in the building are pretty much fried, and the lift is out. Jaegar takes the bulk of his brother’s weight, dragging him up the stairs. I open the door, and we make our way back to the lab, where the two young Moroi are busy destroying the remaining equipment.
“Okay, go,” I tell them as Jaegar disappears into the dark passageway with his brother, who is coming round now and able to carry some of his own weight.
They look apprehensively at each other and I think for a moment they might argue, but they leave. I close my eyes and scan the area mentally. I can find no sign of any vampires, and figure those who are going to get out of here already have. There are a small group of humans heading my way, pursued by another larger group. The last of the Credinciosi are retreating. I do what I can to help them, fusing the already damaged electric doors behind them to slow the progress of the Calugari, and gather what chemicals I can from the remains of the lab.
It’s only a few minutes before they burst in. There are six of them, and two are badly injured, being supported by their comrades. That leaves just two to bring up the rear, peppering the corridor behind them with gunfire to supress any Calugari following them.
“Go, go, go!” the deep voice of Father Patrick fills the lab, as the injured and their helpers dive into the passage.
“You too,” I can’t keep the grin from my face.
“Don’t worry about the Calugari, I’ve slowed them down enough to buy us some time.”
“Of course you have,” he stands and gives me a quick hug before waving me back towards the sanctuary with his final companion.
I try to argue, to get him to leave, but he shakes his head.
“No, Maxi, this is my job. Now, get yourself a good distance. I’ll be right behind you.”
Breed: Slayer Page 21